


Over the Moon

by side_stickie_note (lost_stickie_note)



Category: ONEUS (Band)
Genre: #stickieallover, Comedy, Dongju is a hoot, Fluff, Geonhak likes to make shit happen, Hwanwoong is tinie, Keonhee is the bestest friend, Lemon, Light Angst, M/M, One Shot, Smut, editor!seoho, illustrator!Dongju, writer!Youngjo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-02
Updated: 2020-07-02
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:55:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24427609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lost_stickie_note/pseuds/side_stickie_note
Summary: Youngjo's new editor with the great ass is a pain in his ass.
Relationships: Kim Youngjo | Ravn/Lee Seoho
Comments: 19
Kudos: 135
Collections: Moonlight Fic Fest





	Over the Moon

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so excited about this fic, disregarding conception, took me about 2.5 months of writing time to finish, ahhh. It's my first ONEUS fic too, and I love both Seoho and Youngjo to pieces. I'm glad I was finally able to write something for ONEUS, as I love all the boys so much. ;-; Ahhh, feel like I skimped on the research for this one, so apologies for anything that is (likely) wrong with the fic with regards to how publishing companies work. ;-; I will admit I know nothing.
> 
> Words from bingo board used: publishing company, nostalgic, smells delicious, intergalactic, boy from the moon. I kind of ran with the words very loosely though.
> 
> Anyways, hope you all like it!
> 
> All the thanks to my wonderful beta reader + Emilia and Bambi who literally powered me through this fic tbh. ♡♡♡

Youngjo picks at the loose seam of the throw pillow on their shitty couch, shaking his head when Dongju gives him a quizzical look from the kitchen area, the other boy spreading some butter on what looks to be questionably burnt toast. “Yeah, yeah. Thanks Keonhee for the heads-up.” _Could have come sooner._ “Yeah, I understand.” He lets his friend babble on for a few more minutes longer, undoing the thread that is starting to unravel at the edge of the pillow. “Mhm, I’m happy you got the job, Keonhee, really. But I gotta go. Dongju is here. Yup, he’s doing well. Yeah, mhm. Bye, Keonhee.” He lets out a deep sigh after ending the call. “Trouble?” Youngjo softens into a smile at the question from Dongju, the younger boy’s brows knit together, nose scrunched, chewing.

“Nothing you need to worry about.”

Youngjo nods as Dongju asks him whether he wants coffee, sitting there staring at the half-written story on his laptop screen as the smell of black roast fills their apartment. The word count on his document doesn’t change at all as Dongju hands him his share of the caffeine, and Youngjo watches as the other boy sinks into the recliner across from him, pulling up his knees to his chest, pen busy doodling away on his tablet. At least one of them is being productive. The alarm on his phone goes off, a reminder of the meeting he’s now forced to attend. Youngjo grimaces as he gives up, shoving his laptop into his backpack, slinging one strap over his shoulder, picking up his coffee with the other. “I’ll be back later, Dongju. Not sure how long this will take.”

The pavement is still wet from overnight rain, and Youngjo squelches his way to the office, the soles of his Converse worn down and slippery without enough purchase against the sidewalk. He’s half dreading the meeting, the thought of needing to interact with anyone at the company besides Keonhee making his insides curl uncomfortably. Scratch that. Fully dreading. But it’s not like he has a choice at the moment. The security guard gives him a cheerful wave as he flashes his badge, making his way to the elevators. Second, third, fourth, fifth, sixth, finally seventh floor.

There’s no one in the office thankfully, the entire place emptied out for the weekend. Well, except for one person. Youngjo knocks twice on the half-open door to the office quietly, taking a deep breath to prepare himself before entering, plopping himself down in one of the chairs in front of the desk, placing his backpack down next to him on the ground. The other man doesn’t look up from what he’s doing on his computer screen, and Youngjo nervously picks at the ripped hole in his jeans, torn straight through at both his knees, feeling very much like a child being sent to the principal’s office. After one (or perhaps two) very long and excruciating minutes of silence, Youngjo finally clears his throat and speaks. “Uhh, Mr. Lee?”

The words are so soft that Youngjo nearly doesn’t hear them. “One second, finishing up one last thing.”

So he settles himself into the chair, the sound of the other man’s fingers tapping away at the keyboard with an occasional click of the mouse filling the office. And Youngjo concentrates on making the hole at his right knee larger, pulling at the loose threads. He tries not to fidget too much, but bad habits die hard. The relief washes over him when the other man finally turns to face him, head cocked to one side. “Youngjo, right?”

“Yes, Mr. Lee.”

The other man shakes his head. “None of that. Call me Seoho.”

“Seoho.” The name feels awkward in his mouth, and Youngjo can’t help but think about how he’s in his ripped jeans and ratty oversized wrinkled t-shirt that he had just dug out of his laundry hamper in the morning without thinking too much. But now he _is_ thinking about it because Seoho is sitting across from him in a pressed dark navy blue blazer thrown over a white dress shirt, with nice sharp angles at the collar and with shiny _cuff links_ even for fuck’s sake. And suddenly Youngjo can’t even remember whether his t-shirt was washed or not. Mr. Lee seems much more appropriate than Seoho.

“As I understand, Youngjo, you were working with Keonhee?” Seoho seems determined to look anywhere but his face, which is just perfectly fine with Youngjo. “Uhh, yes. He was my editor, yes.”

Seoho lets out the smallest of sighs, faint enough that Youngjo barely catches it. “Yes, he did notify the company that he would be taking some leave on a personal project.” Youngjo watches as Seoho draws his lips tighter together into a frown. “And he didn’t give much notice, but…” A pause. “The person he went off to work with is one of the most talented writers we have on contract, so I suppose.” Another small barely discernable sigh. “But anyways, you’re a…children’s book author?”

If possible, the atmosphere in the room becomes even more awkward, Seoho’s face twisted into something like embarrassment? discomfort? Youngjo isn’t sure, but he can feel the heat burning his own cheeks. “Uh, yes. I’m a children’s book author. I’m halfway done with the new story that I’m working on, and we have a few mockup sketches for the illustrations so far.”

This time the sigh is very much audible. “I’ll be frank, Youngjo.” Seohold folds his chin into his hands, elbows perched on the desktop. “I’m normally a non-fiction editor.” A pause, an apologetic look. “I don’t have much experience or really interest working on children’s books.” Youngjo isn’t sure what to say, just sits there and lets his cheeks grow warmer, trying to resist the urge to hide his face in embarrassment. “But there wasn’t anyone else available to take you on, so I’m afraid you’re stuck with me.” The attempted smile comes out as a half grimace.

“Sorry.”

Seoho’s mouth opens into an ‘o’ of surprise. “Don’t apologize. It’s not your fault.” He taps against the desktop with his index finger, mindlessly. “I’m not really sure what support you usually receive from Keonhee for your writing, but I’m here to be as helpful as possible.” A pause. “How about we set up a weekly meeting to track your progress with the book?”

Youngjo feels his tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth, dry, but he manages to croak out a response. “That sounds absolutely perfect.”

“Penny for your thoughts.” Youngjo nearly drops the chopsticks he’s holding onto the floor, one of them clattering on to the counter. Dongju gently takes the chopsticks out of his hand. “Are you just going to watch the water boil or actually make ramen?” Youngjo looks down, frazzled, and realizes indeed that his pot is already boiling. “How did the meeting go?”

“Fine.” Youngjo reluctantly elaborates when he sees Dongju’s worried expression. “It wasn’t bad actually. Mr. Lee-” He corrects himself. “I mean, Seoho, was actually nicer than I thought he’d be. Was definitely a bit nervous since Keonhee left so quickly, but overall, Seoho seemed okay with it.” He leans against the counter as Dongju rips open his instant ramen package for him, dumping in his noodles and the little packages of seasoning and spice. “Well, except for the fact that he has no interest in working on children’s books.” Youngjo feels the stress from the afternoon sinking into him all of a sudden, deflating his mood, drawing out the groan. “I don’t know how we’re going to work with him. It’ll probably be months before they even start hiring to replace Keonhee.”

“Mm.”

Dongju swirls his ramen in the pot with the chopsticks, and Youngjo waits patiently for a response. The younger boy doesn’t say anything until the ramen is done, pulling a clean bowl from the drying rack. “Did you want an egg?”

“We’re out of eggs.”

And in the ramen goes, Dongju handing him the finished bowl and pair of chopsticks. “Maybe he just didn’t know what to say.”

“Highly doubtful.”

Dongju looks at him thoughtfully. “It’s not like you did either, I bet.”

The younger boy walks away before he has a chance to properly respond, and Youngjo notices painfully that Dongju has outgrown his pajamas, the boy’s ankles showing, the bottoms adorned with little rubber ducks, yellow on purple, the oversized grey t-shirt that Youngjo only now realizes has a rip in it, near the hem. “When did you become so wise?” He grumbles, grabbing a few napkins along with his ramen, staring down at Dongju who’s already snuggled under three mismatched blankets, two pillows and the bear that takes up half the pull-out couch. “I’ve always been wise.”

“Brat.” He ruffles Dongju’s hair before leaving, flicking the lights off to the living room, making his way to the bedroom.

“Don’t stay up too late!” The words float to him like a faraway whisper, and Youngjo calls out a _yeah, yeah_ just to appease Dongju. But he doesn’t really listen, spending the next hour slurping up his ramen, staring at his computer screen trying to become _inspired_ until he finally can’t stand it, the bright background bringing on another late night headache. He ignores the little meeting notification that pops up in the corner. From Seoho. A time and date for next week. Titled in neat letters - Youngjo’s Progress Update.It isn’t until an hour later of shifting around in his bed restlessly, thinking about his meeting with Seoho, that Youngjo finally gets to sleep.

Youngjo is late.

He swears he set his alarm to the right time the night before, but Youngjo doesn’t really know what happens because he wakes up, and it is ten in the morning. And his meeting with Seoho is supposed to be at nine. Shit, shit, shit. He nearly falls off the bed in his haste, grabbing the closest pair of jeans he can find strewn on his bedroom floor, the t-shirt off the back of his desk chair, the belt hooked on the back of his closet door. Youngjo briefly considers taking a shower when he sees his hair in the bathroom mirror, tangled and messy, but he settles for just brushing his teeth instead, checking his phone every few seconds, watching as the minutes waste away. Shit. Phone, wallet, keys, backpack. Dongju yells something at him as he rushes out the door, possibly something about dinner.

Youngjo is out of breath by the time he reaches the office, practically sprinting the last block and a half, and he can already see Seoho through the glass walls of his office as he approaches, the other man talking on the phone, twirling a pen in his other hand. No big deal. Just an hour and a half late. Yeah. He tries to slow his breathing as best as he can before walking in, running his hand through his hair in an effort to smooth it down somewhat, the pit in his stomach just sinking deeper.

“Hi, Seoho.” The other man puts a finger to his lips, and Youngjo slouches into the chair to wait. The phone call goes on for a few more minutes, Youngjo glancing around the office curiously. The desk is neat and meticulous, papers stacked in their proper places, pens all gathered in a mug, Seoho’s alma mater written in white letters over the dark blue. Seoul University. Smart, then. There are bookshelves to the side, filled with books, all lined up and orderly. But otherwise nothing personal to suggest a life outside the office anywhere. Not like Keonhee’s office, which is, or was, stuffed to the brim with things from home, papers always jumbled and everywhere, but cozy nevertheless.

The sound of Seoho hanging up snaps Youngjo out of his reverie. “So, Youngjo. An hour-“ Seoho glances down at his screen. “An hour and a half late.”

Youngjo feels the embarrassment rise up. “Sorry, my alarm- it didn’t-“ He wilts a little at the look Seoho gives him, a cross between exasperation and pity. “It’s fine, but I don’t have much time to spare. You have fifteen minutes to give me an update before I need to make another call.” Youngjo fumbles, trying to get his laptop out of his backpack, bringing up the document. “Uhh, so you see, the story I’m working on right now is titled ‘Boy from the Moon’, and it’s about this boy who lives on the moon alone. And it’s about his journey to make friends with this boy from Earth after he lands in his rocket ship, and-“

“Wait, why is the boy on the moon?” Seoho interrupts, confusion written across his face. “Where are his parents?”

Youngjo pauses, momentarily unsure of how to answer. “Uhh, I mean, his parents aren’t really part of the story. It’s really more about his friendship than anything else-“

“But I don’t really understand how any of this makes sense.” Youngjo silently hands over his laptop as Seoho motions for it, waiting as the other man skims the document. “I don’t really see where this story is going.”

“It’s about friendship and being able to connect with someone you care about no matter where you are. And finding a place to belong.” Youngjo tacks on, trying to explain his reasoning, his thoughts coming out more panicked as he sees Seoho’s eyebrows drawing closer and closer together into a frown as he reads. He adds on, weakly. “It’s a good message for a children’s book.”

“Rewrite this, please.” Youngjo opens his mouth to protest, but the words die on his lips as Seoho picks up the phone again and turns away, a clear indication that their conversation is over. “And next week, don’t be late.”

“He hates me. I know it.” Youngjo collapses on the couch when he walks into their apartment, pressing a throw pillow over his head so he can scream into it. “You’re exaggerating.” He gratefully accepts the glass of orange juice from Dongju, taking a healthy swig before setting it down on the coffee table. “I’m not. You should have seen the way he looked at me.” Youngjo groans. “Like I’m some small bug that needs to be flushed down the toilet.”

“Now I know you’re exaggerating.” Dongju pauses, spoonful of ice cream halfway to his mouth. “There’s no way he would be unprofessional enough to let you _know_ that he hates you that much.”

“Ugh, shut up.” Youngjo scowls as Dongju artfully dodges the throw pillow, narrowly missing his head. “And stop eating ice cream before lunch. You’re probably ruining your appetite.”

“I do what I want.” Dongju grins at him.

“Brat.”

“Besides, there’s nothing left in the fridge anyways. Only ramen left in the pantry. I was going to ask if you were going grocery shopping for dinner tonight. Especially since we don’t have any salt left, I think.” Dongju points the spoon at him. “Otherwise, I’m perfectly happy eating ice cream all day, all night.”

Youngjo groans. “Yes, yes. I’ll go grocery shopping this afternoon.” He sits up. “How are the illustrations going?” Dongju raises an eyebrow at him. “Can only draw about as fast as you write, hyung.” Youngjo lets out another groan. “I’ll go get groceries now, just so I can avoid this judgment. Is there anything you want in particular?”

“More ice cream?”

“Brat.” Youngjo shoots Dongju another dirty look as he gets up from the couch.

Rice, ramen, frozen pizza, a few more microwaveable dinners for Dongju. And now for real food, Youngjo leans his forearms on to the grocery cart, wheeling it around the corner. Only to see Seoho, the man in side profile, staring intently at a bottle of wine, full shopping cart beside him. Oh no. The screech of his shopping cart wheels as he turns does it. The surprised look on Seoho’s face as the other man turns towards him. Youngjo waves indecisively, unsure of whether to approach or not. But Seoho makes the decision for him. “Youngjo. Nice to see you.” Youngjo doesn’t miss the mild look of judgment that crosses Seoho’s face as the other man sees his cart piled high with junk food. Very different from the steak, chicken, and assortment of other fresh fruit and veggies in Seoho’s cart. He can already feel the tips of his ears going red. “Weekly grocery shopping?”

“Yeah.” Youngjo quickly adds on. “It’s for me and my roommate, Dongju.” A pause. “He’s a good friend and the illustrator I work with.” Seoho nods. “He did the illustrations for your previous two books, right? The Lonely Fox and The Little Farmer.” Youngjo struggles to keep the surprise off his face, not expecting that Seoho would be able to name his other books, but Seoho catches the slipup anyways, breaking out into a wide, dazzling grin. “What? You didn’t think I would at least know the titles of the newest author assigned to me?”

“No, no, not at all.” Seoho smiles at him, and maybe Youngjo feels his chest flutter with hope that the other man doesn’t hate him after all. “How about you? Looks like a lot of food there. Cooking for people?”

“No, just me.” An amused expression. “I just like trying new recipes out of curiosity. One of my writers gifted me a cookbook last Christmas, so I thought I might as well put it to good use.” Seoho gives another friendly smile before leaving. “Perhaps sometime you can come over, and I can cook some good food for you.”

“That sounds great.” The words come out automatically without a second thought, and it takes Youngjo a few minutes for his mind to catch up. One, whether or not it had been an invitation for a _date_. Because it sure sounded like one, and Youngjo instantly whips up thoughts of cooking together, feeding each other, perhaps doing dishes afterwards. Or two, whether or not Seoho was just indirectly insulting him by implying that Youngjo can’t cook, probably hasn’t cooked a proper meal in ages based on the amount of frozen food in his shopping cart. Youngjo spends a little extra effort today picking up veggies and fruits out of baseless spite. And it isn’t until he’s halfway home that he realizes that he never bought more salt.

“Do you _like_ him?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Youngjo scowls at Dongju from across the table, bringing the slice of premade oven-baked pizza to his mouth, chomping down a tad bit more aggressively than necessary. “He’s been kinda rude, and I feel like I’m being punished for doing something wrong every time I step into his office.” The pizza is good, but somehow disappointing that Youngjo isn’t able to cook a proper meal, not able to find any salt in their apartment after returning, finally giving up and popping the pizza into the oven for their dinner. He glares angrily at his slice of admittedly fantastic-tasting pizza.

“Well, if you didn’t like him, at least a little bit, then why would you be asking me whether I think he was asking you on a date then?” Dongju chews, pointing his finger at Youngjo. “Answer me that.”

“Because I’m pretty sure he was just insulting my cooking.” Youngjo frowns.

“Or maybe he’s just being nice and wants to get to know you more.” Dongju notes, picking up another slice of pizza, fingers deftly scooping up the stringy cheese. “You only just met him. Maybe hanging out for dinner or going to get drinks wouldn’t be such a bad idea.” Youngjo groans. “So you’re saying that you think I should spend more time with him.”

“I’m not saying anything.” Dongju gives him a pointed look. “Just that we have to work with him for the next few months at least. It wouldn’t hurt.”

“Please don’t remind me.” A pause. “Eventually you’ll have to come to these weekly meetings too.” Youngjo sighs. “Not like you have anything to look forward to- First meeting went pretty shitty. Any tips?”

“You just need to know exactly what to say next meeting. Just practice answering any possible questions before going. I’ve seen the story. It’s a good one. And show up on time.”

Youngjo drapes the blanket over Dongju quietly, the other boy breathing in and out peacefully, one arm curled under his head, other draped over his stuffed bear. He mentally makes a note to pick up salt tomorrow, flicking off the light switches, turning off the television, their movie half-finished. He spends another half hour finishing menial tasks, sending emails, updating the project timeline spreadsheet. And an extra hour adding another two paragraphs to boyfromthemoon.doc, revising and editing everything else before it.

He wakes up to the sound of his phone blasting music way too loudly in his ear. It takes him a second to realize that it’s not his phone, but Dongju, the little bastard, and a few moments later, he’s screeching, the younger boy tugging the covers right off his bed. “Time to get up.” Youngjo pulls the pillow over his face in defense, a meager attempt to block out the sound of Dongju singing, which only encourages the younger boy to sing even louder. “Get uppp- I want breakfast.”

“Make it yourself.” He retorts, and suddenly, the pillow is being pulled out of his hands too. “You’re an adult.”

“But I want you to make it.” Youngjo cracks open one eye to stare up at Dongju, the other boy’s face coming into view slowly. The other boy is staring down at him, a serious expression on his face. “You always manage to get the yolk just the way I like it.” Youngjo groans when Dongju flops down on top of him, the sudden weight knocking the air out of his lungs. “Pretty please?”

“Fine.”

Dongju hums as Youngjo cooks, flipping the piece of bread over with the spatula in the pan and squishing it down to toast it. The two pieces of bread come out satisfactorily, and Youngjo slides them onto a plate, clumsily cracking an egg into the pan, swearing when a small bit of shell decides to have a mind on its own. “You really could have made breakfast for yourself, Dongju.”

“If I didn’t get you up, you would have been in bed till 1.” Dongju laughs. “And besides, aren’t you happy you’re up now?”

“No.” Youngjo protests before begrudgingly giving in, thinking about what he needs to finish for today. “Yes. Fine, I’m glad you got me up.” A pause. “How are the illustrations coming?”

“I swear, you asked that yesterday.” Dongju pauses. “But good. I have preliminary sketches for all the scenes you’ve given me so far. Just need them approved, and then I can work on coloring.” He jabs a finger in the air at Youngjo. “More importantly, have you figured out the middle and ending of the book yet? Because I’m pretty sure Seoho is going to be on your ass if you don’t show him some progress soon.”

Youngjo groans. “Can you please not remind me? It was yesterday, and the wound is still fresh.”

“If I didn’t remind you, who would?”

“If you don’t stop harping on me about it, you’re not getting your eggs.” Youngjo declares, feeling petty, but he gives the plate to Dongju anyways as the other boy shakes his head. The familiar ringtone goes off, and Youngjo fumbles for a second before managing to put Keonhee on speakerphone. His friend’s voice sounds tinny through the call, and Youngjo slides the phone on to the kitchen table before taking a seat, grabbing the milk and cereal. He crunches into his cereal as Keonhee talks. “Hi, how’s it going with your new editor? Who did they even assign you to?”

“Seoho.”

The pause is so long that Youngjo wonders if Keonhee has hung up.

“I’m so sorry.” The laugh sounds mildly offensive to his ears. “Is it going okay though?”

“It’s going terribly.” Dongju pipes up. “Youngjo thinks Seoho hates him, probably because he literally showed up to their first meeting one and a half hours late. But he also thinks Seoho is hot. Like he wants to sleep with him.”

“I do _not_.” Youngjo grabs the toast out of Dongju’s hand and takes one bite before giving it back in protest to the other boy’s distress. “I only brought it up because I _thought_ he might have been asking me on a date, but I wasn’t sure. And now I’m definitely regretting telling you at all.” His pettiness overrides his reason, and he grabs the fork, poking a hole in the yolk of Dongju’s perfectly fried egg, grinning as Dongju glares at him.

“How are you not _sure_ whether he asked you on a date or not?” Keonhee’s giggles over the phone cause Dongju to _aha!_ at him in triumph. “You either got asked out or you didn’t. It seems pretty stupid to not know whether it happened or not.”

“Exactly.” Dongju brandishes his fork at him. “Youngjo is just being hopeful that Seoho might have interest because he wants that ass.” Youngjo nearly chokes on the spoonful of cereal he had just shoved in his mouth, and Dongju makes a disgusted look at him when he doesn’t quite succeed, passing him a napkin. Keonhee is laughing, and it takes him a few moments to finish off his coughing fit before he can respond, voice hoarse. “Don’t be ridiculous, Dongju.”

“Well, Seoho _does_ have a nice ass.” A voice that isn’t Keonhee comes across faintly from the background. “I mean, I’m assuming you’ve met him at this point?”

“Who’s that?” Youngjo feels the brief moment of panic wash over him at the thought of anyone besides Keonhee and Dongju listening to this embarrassing conversation. “Keonhee? We’re not on speaker, are we?”

“You are.” Keonhee scolds the other person over the phone. “Hwanwoong, shoo. You’re supposed to be working on your manuscript. One sec, Youngjo.” The voices drift away and trail off. “Okay, back.” A pause, and Keonhee heads him off before he can scold his friend. “It was Hwanwoong. Don’t worry. He’s not a blabbermouth. He’s not going to tell Seoho that you have a crush on him.”

“For the last time, I do _not_ have a crush on Seoho, for fuck’s sake.” Youngjo expounds again, Dongju still looking at him, a mildly sardonic grin on his face, from across the table. “But more importantly, who’s Hwanwoong?” He perks up. “Is this your newest dating prospect?”

“No.” Keonhee hesitates. “You may have seen him around the office before? He’s one of the writers under Intergalactic Publishing Company.” His friend sighs. “The tiny one? Who sometimes wanders into other people’s offices?”

“You’re joking. He’s who you left me for?” Youngjo shoots back, affronted, Dongju bursting out in giggles. “He’s the reason why I must now suffer being pawned off to a different editor by my supposed best friend?”

“Well, yes.” Keonhee quickly moves on before Youngjo can get another word in. “And I mean, well, I’m _hoping_ that he’ll become a dating prospect?”

“So, now you’re openly saying that you dropped me for some ass.”

“Hey, he’s _cute_.” A pause. “And not as much ass as Seoho, but that’s besides the point, I guess.”

Youngjo makes a noise halfway between choking and snorting. “That doesn’t make me feel better at all, Keonhee.” His voice turns pleading, hands clasped together in mock prayer. “More importantly, when are you coming back?”

“Honestly, I don’t really know.” Keonhee admits. “It really just depends on when Hwanwoong finishes his manuscript. There’s supposed to be a timeline- lemme just-“ The sound of rustling papers. “Yeah. So- he’s supposed to have this done in maybe a month or two? At least the first final draft. So I’ll probably be back sometime then?”

Youngjo groans. “I don’t really quite understand though, Keonhee. I mean, I get that you’re working with Hwanwoong for this- whatever he’s writing, but why does that mean you can’t work with both of us at the same time.” A few moments pass, and he hears his friend clearly his throat awkwardly. “Uhh, well, Hwanwoong is a bit _eccentric_.”

“What do you mean by eccentric?”

“As in, we’re currently on an island off the coast of Korea…somewhere.”

This time Dongju speaks up. “Uhh, Keonhee, are you okay? We don’t need to send you help or anything, do we?” Nervous chuckles. “You’re not being held against your will or anything, are you?” Youngjo tacks on more, somewhat alarmed. “We can find you if you uhh- need us to.”

“No, no.” Keonhee reassures quickly. “I’m perfectly alright. There’s nothing to worry about. It’s just that I’m mostly here on the island all the time, and I only leave about once a week in order to get groceries and stuff that we need. So that’s why it’s basically impossible for me to be at the office every time you need your editor.” He pauses. “I really didn’t think they’d assign you Seoho though. He’s not exactly- the type to be editing children’s books.”

Youngjo groans. “From what he said, it seems like it was a last option for him too. He wasn’t exactly thrilled to meet me on day one either.”

Keonhee’s tone is hopeful. “Who knows? Maybe you’ll start to get along after a few more weeks?” A pause. “And we can meet and catch up sometime soon if you’d like. On one of the days when I’m going to be off the island.”

He groans again. “Weeks? Not sure I can last till then given how our last meeting went.”

“Well, good luck.” Keonhee hangs up before he can say anything in response.

Dongju gives him a look. “Sounds like we’re stuck with Seoho for a while, so maybe you should actually consider sucking up to him a bit more.” The grin spreads over his face. “Or in other words, kissing ass, figuratively, and maybe literally.”

“Shut up, Dongju.”

“By the way, we still need salt.”

“I really hate you.”

Youngjo spends the next few days really working on the story, trying to wrack his memories for what had originally attracted and compelled him to turn the bedtime story into their next book in the first place. It’s a nostalgic tale, one his mom had told him when he was younger, too shy and awkward to make friends quickly, often spending his time alone during breaks, doodling or making up games to play by himself.

The boy from the moon spends his time alone too, until one day when the boy hears an Earth boy wishing for a friend during the night. And the boy from the moon grants Earth boy’s wish, coming down from the sky to meet him. The two friends go on adventures together, with Earth boy showing the boy from the moon all the fun things there are to do on Earth. Until eventually the boy from the moon needs to return back to the sky. It’s supposed to be a tale of friendship, the two of them wrapped into the knowledge that they’ve each formed a bond with someone that will never disappear.

Youngjo just isn’t quite sure that he’s satisfied with it.

At least Dongju is making progress.

He peers over the other boy’s shoulder, the sketches coming to life with blues and greys for the background of the moon, the first few scenes taking shape quite nicely, the boy from the moon drawn out cutely and neatly. “Mmm, you know I hate when you stare at me working like that.” Dongju waves his hand. “So when do I get to meet the infamous Seoho?”

“I’m pitching the full story to him this week. So probably next week?” Youngjo offers, collapsing on to their couch, folding up his knees to his chest and clutching Dongju’s bear. “I’m guessing that he’ll want to meet you after at least the writing part is mostly finished.”

Dongju nods at him. “Ready for your meeting tomorrow?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be.”

So maybe Youngjo is not ready.

He really thinks he’s explained it well, carefully running through the entire story, page by page, giving Seoho a quick explanation of what each illustration will depict along with the words, and Seoho seems receptive as he does, nodding periodically, twirling a pen between his fingers as Youngjo talks, entirely absorbed in his presentation. Youngjo makes it to the end and mentally celebrates his moment de triomphe, but his crowning glory is short-lived, unfortunately.

“I don’t understand the ending.”

Seoho stares at him, gaze boring into him in a way that makes his throat dry all of a sudden. He clears his throat, taking a sip of water from his water bottle for good measure. “What do you mean?”

“They spend the entire story becoming friends, and then by the end, the boy needs to leave and return back to the moon? I don’t understand why he doesn’t just stay on Earth with the other boy he makes friends with.”

Youngjo gawks at Seoho, not quite knowing how to respond. “Because the story is supposed to teach a lesson. That it’s okay to be different and that you can still have a treasured friendship that you’ll hold on to in your memories forever.” He adds. “And besides, they still talk to each other every night before the Earth boy falls asleep.”

“But he could have just stayed on Earth.”

“He’s from the _moon_.” Youngjo sputters, not really knowing what more he can say to drive home his point. “He needs to return back to his home.”

“Mm.” Seoho still looks unconvinced, and Youngjo feels himself on the verge of having his temper flare, the back-and-forth of the last fifteen minutes not going anywhere productive. The other man sighs, low and deep. “I mean, I guess you _are_ the one with more experience in this genre.” Seoho’s voice remains doubtful. “We can just go with this for now.”

Youngjo exhales slowly to calm himself. “Thank you.”

Seoho nods. “Okay, then. Has Dongju started on any of the illustrations for the story yet? If so, I want to see them next week, and we can all sit down and talk about it.” Youngjo nods back, the tiredness suddenly hitting him. “Yeah, he has. Even started in on some of the coloring. Is there anything else you want us to prepare for our next meeting?”

“No, that should be fine.” Seoho calls out to him as he’s leaving, the door to Seoho’s office swinging shut behind him. “And Youngjo? Thanks for being on time today.”

Youngjo feels his cheeks burn, the embarrassment rooting him to the floor.

His phone distracts him, the sound of a text pinging him. Notification, Geonhak. Hey, want to grab drinks tonight? Yeah, sure, sounds good. Youngjo rubs his temples, putting it away after seeing Geonhak’s thumbs up. At least, now he’ll have a chance to vent to someone who isn’t Dongju, the thought of meeting up with Geonhak giving him some extra motivation to get through the rest of his day.

Please, no.

Youngjo spots Geonhak before his friend notices him, standing by the bar, drink in hand, and he’s just about to call out Geonhak’s name when he stops to proverbially pinch himself to make sure he’s not dreaming. He’s not. And it is definitely Seoho that is standing next to Geonhak, face lit up with a laugh. Youngjo wonders if he should just give up and go home, and he’s strongly considering turning tail to leave the bar, the thought of Dongju shaking his head at him once he gets back fresh in his mind. But Geonhak spots him in his moment of indecision, waving him over. Shit. He tries to smile cheerfully as he gets nearer, giving Geonhak an awkward side-hug, waving at Seoho.

“Hey, Youngjo. Have you two met before? This is Seoho.” Geonhak slaps him on the back, calling for the bartender to bring him a drink. “Just happened to bump into him on the way here and told him to come along. We haven’t drunk together in a while.”

“Yeah, we’ve met.” Seoho looks between the two of them quizzically. “I didn’t know you two knew each other though. Don’t you two work with entirely different teams?”

Youngjo huffs, opening his mouth to explain how the two of them know each other though Geonhak writes self-help books, admittedly not exactly in the same wheelhouse as Youngjo. And it is technically true that he never sees his friend at the office either. “Friends from university.” Geonhak’s laugh is deep. “Used to make all these videos during university, and it was Youngjo that suggested I also try my hand at writing after my platform grew. He also recommended me to join Intergalactic Publishing Company.”

Seoho’s mouth is open in an ‘o’ of surprise, and somehow it irks Youngjo to no end, his tone grumpy. “How do you two know each other?”

“Geonhak had me for an editor for a bit before we hired more people.” Seoho replies simply. “And I decided that I like making fun of him.” The serious expression on Seoho’s face is a stark contrast to his undercurrent teasing tone. Youngjo watches as Geonhak lightly punches Seoho in the arm. “Talk shit, get shit.” Geonhak holds out one to the each of them, the bartender bringing back a round of shots, before knocking his own back. “Drink up.”

Half an hour later, and Youngjo feels more drunk than he should. They end up playing a drinking game, and Geonhak and Seoho are so competitive, he can barely keep up. So much for his heart to heart venting session with Geonhak. But Youngjo learns that Seoho is _not_ always a stone-hearted, cold expression, no-nonsense guy who never smiles, and he isn’t sure whether he’s more annoyed that Seoho just hates _him_ or that Seoho seems to like Geonhak. Or both.

“Youngjoooo.” He startles as Seoho grabs on to his sleeve, tugging at his t-shirt, leaning over to be heard better. “Come to the bathroom with me.” _Shit, he’s wasted_. The other man’s cheeks look flushed, even in the dim lighting of the bar, and the summer heat doesn’t help. Youngjo had come wearing another well-worn t-shirt thrown over ripped jeans, but Seoho is still in his clothes from work earlier, the black looking silky smooth, the top few buttons popped open, and sleeves halfway rolled up. There’s a shiny sheen over Seoho’s forehead, a few beads of sweat. Youngjo tries not to think about how Seoho looks quite nice with his eyes bright, catching the light, lips parted. He glances over, wishing that Geonhak hadn’t picked the most inopportune time to be gone, seeing the back of his friend’s head near the bar, buying more drinks. “You can go yourself.”

“I think- I’m a bit- tipsy.” Youngjo nearly falls off the barstool in surprise, Seoho leaning in even closer, halfway off his own stool already, Seoho’s breath hot and warm against his neck. It takes him a moment to steady the other man, thankfully Seoho is sober enough to realize Youngjo is his lifeline, hands grabbing at his shoulders. “Fine, fine. I’ll come with you.”

Seoho keeps a viselike grip on his arm as they make their way to the back of the bar where the restrooms are, sticking to his side as best as possible as they move through the crowd of people packed wall to wall. There’s no one else around, thankfully, and Youngjo grunts as Seoho almost trips over his own two feet, pulling on his arm. It feels like a dream, one minute having the other man stare at him as if he’s an incompetent child, the next minute helping Seoho stay upright as he fumbles with the belt buckle, and oh. Youngjo steps back so quickly that Seoho nearly _does_ fall over, the other man righting himself at the last instant, and suddenly Youngjo is determined to look everywhere, anywhere else besides Seoho who’s managed to undo the zipper on his pants. But even as he’s trying not to look, he can’t help but hear Dongju’s voice in his head, whispering sinfully, and Youngjo mentally kicks himself as he steals more than a few seconds admiring the shape of Seoho’s ass in his pants.

Youngjo is definitely going to hell.

He never knew taking a piss could last an eternity.

Youngjo waits patiently as Seoho finishes washing his hands, and he offers his arm without thinking for the other man to take, but Seoho doesn’t, barging out of the restrooms first, leaving Youngjo to trail after him. Geonhak looks at him questioningly as he shakes his head, and Youngjo almost screeches when Seoho’s stray hand comes a few inches close to knocking one of the glasses off the table. Youngjo spends the rest of the night drinking-but-not-drinking, keeping one eye on Seoho, who refuses to give up downing more alcohol in the face of Geonhak’s goading, trying to convince himself that he is not in fact worried about Seoho at all. Not one bit. It doesn’t stop the heavy pit from weighing in his stomach though as he watches Seoho become more and more flushed, resisting the urge to pry the drinks from the other man’s hands, the feeling itching across his skin.

“Why did you keep drinking with him, Geonhak?” He hisses, ignoring Seoho who’s tapping insistently against the glass from the inside of the cab. “You know you can drink anyone under the table. And the dumbass doesn’t know when to stop. Or what’s good for him.”

“What? You worried about him?” Geonhak grins at him wickedly. “Didn’t know he was your type.”

“He’s not. my. type.” Youngjo emphasizes each word for extra clarity. “I actually wanted to hang and complain to you _about_ him. I didn’t know you were going to actually show up with the guy.” He groans when the realization dawns on Geonhak’s face, washing over his friend like a bucket of ice water. “And everyone needs to stop telling me that he’s my type. You, Dongju. Literally everyone.”

The evil grin returns.

“Well if everyone is saying it, maybe it’s true.”

“And why do I have to be the one to make sure he gets back home?” Youngjo huffs, the smirk on Geonhak’s face making his hackles rise. “You’re the one he’s actually friends with. I’m just the writer he shits on.”

“Because my place is in the actual opposite direction as his, and yours is at least in the same direction.” Geonhak shrugs. “It’s not my fault.”

Youngjo resists the urge to smack Geonhak. “This is _solely_ your fault.” The cab driver rolls down the window, tone impatient. “Hey, are you getting in or not? I don’t got all night to wait around.” He gives Geonhak one last glare, his friend only winking back, before opening the door to the backseat, motioning for Seoho to slide over, which the other man clumsily does. With a little prodding, Seoho gives his address, and Youngjo flashes Geonhak the middle finger as they drive off, his friend waving cheerily at him.

Absolute traitor.

“This is so ridiculous.” Youngjo mutters underneath his breath.

“Hmm?” Seoho is half asleep, and Youngjo can see the other man’s eyelashes fluttering, trying to keep his eyes open without any success, and Youngjo shifts to make himself more comfortable as Seoho’s head drifts towards his shoulder, his cheek pressed up against his arm. He tries to stay as still as possible the ride home, thankful for the silence. Youngjo really doesn’t need Seoho talking to him in his sleepy half muted whisper, not when Seoho smells like alcohol with undertones of whatever cologne he has on - sweet over the bitter. And certainly not when the other man’s head is half-way tucked into the crook of his arm, and if Youngjo just relaxes slightly, his chin will be resting on top of Seoho’s head, the faint smell of some type of citrus-y shampoo clouding his judgment.

No, Youngjo doesn't need that.

He gently shakes Seoho awake when they get to his place, the other man rubbing his eyes with his balled up fists, blinking owlishly in the dark, a strip of his cheek illuminated by the moonlight falling through the window. “Home?” Youngjo tries not to think about Seoho mumbling the word into his chest, voice laced with drowsiness. “Yes, home.” Seoho lets him link their arms, following Youngjo up the steps to the door, and he waits as the other many fumbles with the keys, fingers clumsy. “Here, let me.” He gently takes them away from Seoho, pushing the key firmly into the keyhole.

“Youngjo, why don’t you like me?”

The question startles Youngjo, not expecting Seoho to be looking up at him, lips set into a half pout-half scowl, almost comical in his desire to look stern, Seoho’s arms crossed over his chest. “I don’t not like you, Seoho.” He almost falls backwards from the suddenness of Seoho’s weight pressed up against him, the other man’s hands over his chest. “You _don’t_ like me. And I want to know why.” A pause, adding on petulantly. “It makes me sad that you don’t like me.”

“Seoho, you’re drunk.” Youngjo ushers Seoho into the apartment, pushing the front door closed. “Get some sleep.”

“Goodnight, Youngjo.” Seoho’s face is just a sliver visible through the crack in the door.

“Goodnight, Seoho.”

Youngjo gets back home, ignores Dongju who tries to talk to him, and tries unsuccessfully to get to sleep for hours, the look on Seoho’s face when he said _sad_ swimming in his mind.

Youngjo is stressed.

The next meeting happens without Dongju, the younger boy somehow coming down with a terrible summer cold, two days out, and Youngjo spends the night before tucking Dongju into his bed with heaps of blankets, checking his temperature every few hours, and bringing him warm compresses. Dongju can’t stomach anything except for soup, and Youngjo has to run to the store to buy more. It’s two in the morning before he finally falls asleep, slumping on to the couch, and he wakes up groggily before his alarm goes off, the sunlight streaming through the blinds that he forgot to close last night. He tries to make as little noise as possible getting up, clattering around in the kitchen, and he gives Dongju a quick check before heading out, the other boy curled up in fetal position, still sleeping soundly.

“Youngjo?” Seoho’s hand waving in front of his face snaps him out of his thoughts, his nervous jiggling of his leg, thinking about whether Dongju’s fever has at least gone away. “Are you okay?”

Seoho’s expression softens, and Youngjo doesn’t know what to think, just remembering Seoho looking at him all wide-eyed and _sad_. Youngjo doesn’t know whether he’s just imagining the other man being nicer today, but maybe he is. “You seem distracted.” His imagination probably, but Seoho’s voice is low, tinged with worry and absent of its usual bite. “Did something happen?” It makes Youngjo want to tell him what’s wrong, spill his guts in a way that makes his stomach twist uncomfortably.

“No, Dongju’s just sick. And I was up late last night.” Youngjo mentally kicks himself for doing it anyways. Not like it’s any of Seoho’s business. Or that he should care about. The words keep coming out anyways. “I’m just worried, and I wanted to run back and make him something to eat. He was throwing up all yesterday.” He picks at the loose strand at the edge of his sleeve, the edge unraveling. Nervous habits, nervous habits. Seoho glances at the time. Nearly noon, Youngjo notes.

“Do you want to just meet sometime later this afternoon?” Click, click. Seoho peers at the screen, eyes narrowing. “I have a bit of free time around 3:30pm today. We can meet sometime then?” Youngjo is half at home already, his mind already gone the instant Seoho had dismissed him, and he nods quickly, throwing his stuff into his backpack. “Yeah, that sounds good. Thank you.”

“I hope Dongju is okay.”

Dongju is still in bed when he gets back, fast asleep, and Youngjo brushes the back of his hand over the other boy’s forehead, still warm. Chicken noodle, it is. He dumps the whole can into the pot, turning up the heat on the stove and waits, stirring occasionally. It’s not like Dongju to get sick, the younger boy seemingly made of resilience. He had only ever really seen Dongju get sick once, the flu, and it had gone on for a good week and a half. Maybe the same thing this time around, but Youngjo hopes not. Only day three so far.

He carefully tips the pot, the soup filling up the bowl three-quarters of the way, steamy nice and hot. _Hopefully, Dongju can keep it down._ Youngjo shakes the other boy awake gently, placing the bowl on the nightstand next to his bed. Dongju wakes up slowly, the first few moments not registering that Youngjo is beside him, eyes glassy and confused. “Hi, Youngjo.” His voice sounds scratchy and raw, and Youngjo hands him the glass of water first for the younger boy to take a sip. “Here, let’s take your temp again.” Dongju waits patiently as the little numbers climb on the thermometer, beeping to a final stop at 38.5 Celsius. Youngjo hands the other boy the acetaminophen, and Dongju downs them obediently. “Still a bit of a fever. Can you try eating?” Dongju shifts to sit up in the bed, pulling the blankets up with him. “Be careful, it’s hot.”

He watches carefully as Dongju takes the first sip, the other boy wincing slightly as he swallows. But he takes a second, third sip, and Youngjo sighs with relief inwardly. “Good. How do you feel?”

“Like shit.” Dongju croaks. “But what’s new.”

“Better than yesterday?”

“Considering I’m not vomiting out this food right now, I would definitely say so.”

Youngjo groans. “You’re feeling good enough to make snarky comments at me? Yeah, you’re fine. Make your own food.”

“Noooo-“ Dongju coughs slightly. “I take it all back. I love you, Youngjo. Don’t leave me alone.”

He ruffles the other boy’s hair. “Let me know if you need anything else. Otherwise, get some more rest. And drink looks of water.” He points at the glass and the extra water bottle. “And please, please don’t vomit on my bed. Here’s the trashcan.” Youngjo plops the trash down next to the bed. “I’m glad you’re doing better than yesterday though. I have to go back to work later, skipped like half my meeting with Seoho.”

Dongju grins at him. “How goes it with seducing your boss? Progress?” He slurps up another mouthful of soup. “Did he kiss you when he was drunk?”

Youngjo stares at Dongju incredulously. “How do you know about that?”

“Geonhak told me that you were hovering like a hawk over him the entire night.” Dongju laughs lightly. “What, afraid someone was going to try and whisk him away?”

“I was just trying to be _nice_.” Youngjo huffs. “He was drinking a lot, and I was concerned okay.”

“Yeah, you just keep telling yourself that.” Dongju brightens. “Wait, so does this mean you two did kiss? Lock lips? Smooch? Make-out? Maybe you even made it into his-“

“Drink your damn soup.”

Youngjo breathes a sigh of relief, the cloud of worry clearly from his head as he closes the bedroom door, ignoring the stream of teasing from Dongju. _At least he’s feeling better._ 1:10pm. Still another hour and a half at least until he needs to leave and catch up with Seoho. He rummages around in the fridge for something, anything edible, but there’s nothing he feels like whipping up. Microwaveable lunch it is. Three minutes and thirty seconds later, and he’s curled up on the couch with some fettucine alfredo that admittedly doesn’t taste half bad, scrolling through his emails, responding to a few. 2:00pm. Still some time left. He makes himself comfortable, turning the television on, a movie he’s watched at least three times on the screen. Well, now four times.

It’s the vibrating that wakes him up, the sound and feel of his phone up against his cheek, and he cracks open one eye with a groan, looking down to see who might be trying to call him. And shoots right up, fingers fumbling, cursing, trying to answer the call, the ‘Lee Seoho’ lettered across the top of his phone screen. “Hello? Seoho?” He’s out of breath, heart pounding. “Youngjo? Are you coming back to the office?” Youngjo moves the phone away from his face quickly, checking the time. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“Uhh-“ He waffles, debating. Honesty, be honest. “I actually fell asleep after getting back and checking on Dongju. Probably too tired from not sleeping last night.” Youngjo would like to believe he has more courage, but on the inside, the thoughts of being potentially fired right now, on the spot, are running rampant. He holds his breath during the silence. “Is there a coffee shop close to your place?” Youngjo rattles off the first place that comes to mind without thinking, the shop just a few blocks away from his apartment. “Okay, I’ll meet you there as soon as I can.” And before Youngjo can process and protest, Seoho hangs up on him. _Wait, what just happened?_ It takes Youngjo a few moments to realize that perhaps he should get moving. And on second thought, maybe change, as he looks down at the spot on his sleeve which he drooled on while sleeping.

Seoho arrives a few minutes after he does, and Youngjo spots him when he’s still half a block away, the navy blue suit and dark hair unmistakable. He waves, and the other boy waves back. “Shall we?” Seoho smiles at him, genuine and nice, and Youngjo feels himself floundering, a slow fluttering in his stomach. “Yeah, uhh, sure.” And he waits in line behind Seoho, the other man chatting about something that had happened in his meeting, the words admittedly going in one ear and out the other for Youngjo. He almost doesn’t even notice Seoho motioning at him, having already given his order, waiting expectantly. “What do you want, Youngjo? I’ll cover you.” Youngjo nearly blurts out the resounding ‘no’, the word on the tip of his tongue, but he catches it just in time, what comes out sounding garbled and unclear. “No- thing.”

“No, I insist.” And Seoho’s smile is so bright that he can’t help but give in, cracking under the weight of it.

“Just a regular iced coffee would be fine.”

The cashier nods, handing the receipt over to Seoho and giving them a number to place at their table, Youngjo following the other man over to a small table near the windows. “So, tell me about what you’ve worked on since last time.” Seoho nods as Youngjo pulls out his laptop, showing everything that he had put together over the last week, more scenes and dialogue fleshed out, briefly showing a few of the sketches Dongju had started also. Seoho is in a comparatively great mood today, offering helpful suggestions in a brightened tone instead of his usual brusque demeanor, and Youngjo feels himself relaxing, the tension flowing out of his shoulders.

“Here’s your order.” The boy sets down their drinks, the plate with a slice of chocolate cake in front of Seoho. “Enjoy!”

“Did you have lunch?” Seoho looks at him with concern in his eyes, eyebrows drawn together attractively. “I know you were busy with Dongju.” Youngjo remembers the microwaveable he had eaten, but Seoho scoops out a chunk from the cake, handing it to him before getting up to grab another spoon, and Youngjo doesn’t have the heart to say anything. Youngjo feels the embarrassment heating his face as they continue, Seoho pushing the plate towards him as they eat, sharing the food. The thought that they look as if they’re on a date flashes across his mind, an awareness that they’re entirely visible from outside the café through the glass taking hold of him. “Youngjo?” He snaps back to the present as Seoho waves in front of his face to get his attention. “Are you okay with meeting again next week on Thursday? And bring Dongju too, if he’s feeling better.”

Seoho smiles at him. “Maybe we should do more of our meetings out of the company like this. You seem much more comfortable.”

Youngjo resists the urge to retort, not willing to compromise this newfound nice version of Seoho. “Yeah, that would be great.”

“Oh, and Youngjo, I was entirely serious about getting together for food sometime. I like to get to know the writers I’m working with on a more personal level if possible. Especially if we’re going to be collaborating for a longer time.” A pause. “It’s a bit unclear when Keonhee will finish his assignment, so you might be stuck with me for a while.”

Youngjo pretends it doesn’t affect him at all, pushing down the flutters that well up in his stomach, succeeding for the most part until he arrives home where Dongju somehow musters up the energy even when sick to make fun of him for his supposed “date”. He grins upon leaving the room though, the protests following him out into the hall, the bowl of heated soup on the desk, just out of Dongju’s reach if the younger boy wants to stay in the bed.

“Do you have everything you need?” Youngjo looks critically at Dongju, who’s packing up his things into a backpack, throwing seemingly a decent amount of unnecessary items in with the rest. He places their bowls from lunch in the sink, filling them up with some water, a pump or two of dish soap, to soak. “You just need to bring the sketches. I don’t think you need anything else besides that.” Youngjo wipes his hands on the dishtowel to dry them. “We don’t want to be late.”

“Correction, _you_ don’t want to be late.” Dongju laughs. “Because you already made that mistake once. And don’t worry, I won’t make you late for your date.”

Youngjo nearly throws the dishtowel at Dongju’s head, wailing. “Stop it, I already told you there’s absolutely nothing going on.” A pause. “And besides, you’re going to be there too, so how can that be a date?” He tacks on triumphantly, the glow of winning not lasting long.

“Mhm. You keep telling yourself that everyone goes with their editors to cute coffeeshops and share cake. Oh, and that every writer gets invited to have dinner cooked by their editor too. Yeah, stay delusional, Youngjo.” Dongju gives him a skeptical look, eyebrow arched with disbelief. “He says he invites _everyone_.” Youngjo yells out, Dongju paying him no mind, ignoring him and walking out of their apartment without him, leaving Youngjo to curse to himself, quickly grabbing his things so he can follow.

Youngjo is still feeling a tinge of bitterness as they get to the office, Dongju needling him with teasing words the entirety of the way there, and his mood doesn’t improve when Geonhak adds to insult, bumping into them in the elevator up, unfortunately divulging more details to Dongju of their night out, giving the younger boy more ammo to use against him. Youngjo is half-surprised that Geonhak even remembers so much, fairly certain Geonhak had been far gone by the end. His mood leaks into their meeting, and the audience doesn’t help, Dongju in the room making him increasingly nervous when interacting with Seoho, stumbling over his words and sounding unsure of himself.

When Dongju excuses himself to the bathroom, Youngjo breathes out a sigh of relief, settling into his seat, expecting a reprieve from the meeting, already dragging on longer than Youngjo has the patience for, Seoho’s sharpened gaze directed at him. Seoho doesn’t speak, looking over Dongju’s illustrations instead, the office quiet all of a sudden, only the sound of Seoho tapping a finger against the surface of his desk. Youngjo is startled when Seoho finally speaks, clearly his throat lightly before he starts. “These are bad.” Seoho points to the half colored illustration, turning Dongju’s laptop so that Youngjo can see the screen, pointing at one of the earlier scenes in the story, one depicting the boy in his home on the moon. “The coloring here is too blended together, the shades used are too close to one another so the main character doesn’t stand out enough.” Youngjo feels the annoyance rising in his chest at the comment, pricking his cheeks with heated anger, especially sensitive given the past hour.

“What do you mean? The colors are supposed to be blues, grays, whites to show the drabness of the boy’s life beforehand.”

“But the main character still needs to be distinguishable here. And his life may be drab, but this is a children’s book – it can’t look this sad.” And Youngjo’s irritation increases, now feeling as if Seoho has moved past criticizing the color scheme to also include his writing. “Perhaps Dongju can just change these parts, and maybe we can schedule separate meetings later on to discuss the illustrations to be paired with your writing.”

“Dongju doesn’t need to change anything.” Youngjo can tell his voice is growing impatient, heated. “He’s illustrated my past two books, and I let him make all the final decisions then too.” Seoho responds coolly. “That may have been the case when you were working with Keonhee, but this time you’re working with me as your editor, and I’m afraid that I feel I should have some measure of input on this also.”

“His illustrations are fine.” Frustrated. “You’re not an illustrator.”

“I’m your editor.” A pause. “And it’s my job to make sure your book is polished by the end.”

“Well, you’re doing a shitty job.” Seoho’s eyes widen in shock at the harsh words, but before Seoho can respond and before Youngjo feels any of the regret seeping in, Dongju returns. And Youngjo makes another snap decision, the urge to get away crawling over his skin. “Dongju, it’s time to go.” Dongju gives him an inquiring look, about to speak. “Now.” Youngjo doesn’t wait for an answer, grabbing his backpack and leaving Seoho’s office without a look back, assuming that Dongju will follow

“What happened back there?” Dongju stares at him from across the table, taking a bite of the food Youngjo’s made for dinner with much effort and only one half of it too salty. “It’s not like you to get so angry.”

“He was insulting your work.” Youngjo’s voice is taut, feeling his hackles rise as he remembers his conversation with Seoho. “And it made me mad, that’s all.”

Dongju raises an eyebrow at him but doesn’t ask further.

They continue to have their weekly meetings, ones including all three of them, and Youngjo decides not to bring up their argument, making sure he remains professional when speaking with Seoho, and the other man responds in kind. There are no more meetings that happen in coffee shops, only ones that take place in Seoho’s office, and sometimes Seoho meets with just Dongju though the younger boy never tells him what happens when they do meet. Something about not wanting to get in the middle of their so-called lover’s quarrel, which Youngjo vehemently denies. They decide to compromise on Dongju’s color palette for his illustrations, the boy’s astronaut suit becoming a light blue instead of its previous grey. Dongju happily continues on with his sketches and filling out the scenes with reds, oranges, and greens, as the story progresses down on Earth.

And after about three weeks, the inklings of regret have turned into a full-on leaky spout, the tightening in his chest occurring each time he sees Seoho. But there’s just never a good time to bring it up, to mend broken fences, or at least that’s what Youngjo tells himself, his breath hitching every time he tries to broach the subject, the words dying on his lips as soon as Seoho returns his gaze.

“You need to stop being so stubborn.” Geonhak looks at him pointedly over the rim of his glass. Youngjo can’t help the affronted noise that escapes him, his nose scrunching up into a face. “Why am I the stubborn one and not him?” Geonhak laughs, and Youngjo wonders if it was a bad idea inviting his friends out for drinks, thinking Geonhak would be solidly on his side of the matter. “Because you’re the one that yelled at him first, aren’t you?”

“No.” A pause. “Okay, yes, but he’s the one that was instigating.”

“Mhm.” Geonhak stares at him skeptically. “It sounds like he was just trying to do his job. You know, being a good editor. Trying to make your book the best it can possibly be by suggesting changes. And besides, you were more upset about it than Dongju was. He told me they talked and that Seoho seems cool.”

Youngjo groans. “Why are you taking his side? Aren’t you supposed to be my friend? You wouldn’t even know him if it weren’t for me.” A pause, Geonhak’s words sinking in. “And when did you even talk to Dongju? How come it seems like I’m always the last one to find things out.”

“Not sure, maybe a week ago? And besides, I’m on the side of what’s right.” Geonhak nods at him. “Now drink up. You always see reason when you get shit-faced drunk.”

Five drinks in, and Youngjo is starting to feel the effects, only barely registering Geonhak across the table from him, who’s also laughing with him, or at him, Youngjo isn’t quite sure. He lets the feeling of being drunk roll through him, a nice fuzzy feeling, and Youngjo finds that Geonhak is right. He really _should_ forgive Seoho, maybe try and talk to him again. After all, Seoho had been so nice at the café, Youngjo’s sure that the other man hadn’t meant to be rude about Dongju’s illustrations. And Youngjo _had_ in fact snapped at Seoho first, Geonhak is right about that. Plus, the more Youngjo drinks, the more he remembers their previous night out, the way Seoho had leaned into his arm the ride home.

Youngjo gets out his phone, looking down at his screen, his fingers fumbling to find Seoho in his contacts, their last messages from a few weeks ago popping up. “Geonhak, it’s not weird if I text Seoho now, is it?” His friend looks at him with barely concealed glee, interest all over his face. “You want to text Seoho? Thinking of acting on that crush you have?”

“It’s not a crush.” Youngjo feels the embarrassment flushing the back of his neck, moving to shove his phone back into his pocket, but Geonhak grabs it from him before he can. And Youngjo feels the horror rising up in his throat when he realizes that Geonhak is typing out a message, his friend evading his grasp. “Geonhak, what are you saying to him?” Geonhak grins at him, face flushed from drinking. “Nothing that you don’t want to say yourself, don’t worry.” Geonhak hands him his phone back, Youngjo trying to make sense of the words on the screen, not quite putting them together correctly. Though he does see the word _ass_ in there somewhere. And Youngjo panics, trying to respond, but his thumb brushes the wrong button and suddenly, he’s on a phone call, hanging up as soon as he realizes.

The rest of the night passes by in a blur, Youngjo only faintly remembering arriving home at his apartment, Dongju opening the door for him when he can’t unlock it the first three times he tries.

Youngjo wakes up with a splitting headache, the alarm on his phone going off incessantly, and he’s mildly surprised that he managed to set an alarm at all last night before falling into slumber, his clothes still the same as last night. Oh no. He isn’t sure whether he wants to open up the messages, three unread from Seoho, one missed call, also from Seoho, notifications on his screen. A deep breath before checking. His eyes laser in on the ones from Seoho.

**Lee Seoho**  
What?  
Why did you call?  
Youngjo?

Shit.

He’s so busy staring at the messages from Seoho that it takes him a moment before noticing exactly what Geonhak had texted to Seoho on his behalf.

**Kim Youngjo**  
You have such a nice ass.  
So juicy and tight.  
Very fuckable. 

Dongju bursts through his room, brandishing a spatula, Youngjo still screaming bloody murder when the younger boy sees him, staring down at his phone. “What’s going on? Are you okay? Did something happen? Do I need to kill someone?” Youngjo doesn’t bother to respond, just handing over his phone for Dongju to see, wailing, burying his head in his arms, drawing his knees up to his chest with despair. And all he hears is the sound of Dongju laughing at him, big and raucous, the feeling of utter shame drowning him.

An hour later, and they’re sitting around the table at a boozy brunch that Youngjo can’t bring himself to partake in, the hangover still making his head pound, though the stack of pancakes seems to be helping. And maybe he wouldn’t have bothered to come at all if he knew that the entire get-together would be spent talking about The Fuckup. “You haven’t responded to Seoho yet?” Youngjo groans, wondering what he’d done in a past life to get grilled by a stranger he’s only just met for the first time, Hwanwoong staring him down forcefully. “Yeah, I don’t exactly know what to say.”

Dongju snorts out a laugh. “How exactly do you respond after you send ‘very fuckable’ to your boss?”

“You don’t.” Keonhee pipes up, taking a bite of his waffles. “You quit your job immediately and hope you never have to see him ever again.”

Youngjo lets out another groan. “Please, can we stop reminding me about last night?” A pause. “At least until my painkillers kick in so that my head stops hurting?”

“But you do realize you have to at least respond before our meeting on Tuesday, right?” Dongju looks at him pointedly. “I really don’t want to be there for the inevitable fall-out that happens between the two of you lovebirds.”

Youngjo ignores the other boy and shovels another bite into his mouth, a gulp of water. “Can we talk instead about this whole thing?” He points his fork back and forth between Hwanwoong and Keonhee, gaze narrowing. “I assume since Hwanwoong is being introduced to the two of us, this isn’t just an editor and writer relationship. Or is it?” Youngjo watches as his friend Keonhee turns bright red, a stark contrast to Hwanwoong who seems utterly unphased by the question or implication. Hwanwoong’s reply is matter-of-fact, popping a grape into his mouth and chewing. “Of course it’s an editor and writer relationship. Keonhee is an editor, I’m a writer, so by default that has to be true.” Youngjo opens his mouth to comment and protest, but decides not to when he sees Keonhee shaking his head, looking distinctly more and more embarrassed with each passing second that silence looms. Dongju is not as tactful. “But like, are you two sleeping together?”

The waiter that chooses that very moment to ask whether they’d like dessert looks like he’d rather be anywhere else.

Hwanwoong waves his fork at Youngjo, seemingly intent on giving him more unsolicited advice, and Youngjo wishes for at least the third time today that Hwanwoong would just be content with being one half of a cute couple with Keonhee instead of feeling the need to play matchmaker. “You really do have to message Seoho though. The longer you wait, the more he’s going to think there’s something wrong between the two of you.”

Speak of the devil.

Youngjo glances down at his notifications, the name ‘Lee Seoho’ staring accusingly back at him, and he turns his phone over on the table quickly, torn between wanting to know what the other man wants and avoiding his problems completely. But it doesn’t escape Keonhee’s notice. “Is that Seoho?” And for the second time within 24 hours, Youngjo finds him trying to grab for his phone back, Keonhee swiping up to check his notification, Youngjo cursing that his best friend knows the passcode to his phone. “Ooo, it is.” He watches as the smile breaks over Keonhee’s face, corners of his mouth turned up with unrestrained glee. “Spicy.” Youngjo glares as his friend passes the phone to Hwanwoong, the other writer making a noncommittal noise, eyebrows raising, and then glares even harder as his phone makes its way to Dongju next. “Am I really going to be the last one to read my own damn messages?”

“You’re the one that didn’t want to open it.” Dongju comments slyly. “It’s entirely your own fault.” A pause. “But yeah, you definitely have to respond to this one.”

Youngjo feels a sliver of dread run through him as Dongju gives his phone back, clenching his teeth before looking, a huge sigh when he sees, all the air rushing out of his lungs.

**Lee Seoho**  
We need to talk.  
My place for dinner after our Tuesday meeting?

Maybe not as bad as he was expecting. At least it doesn’t seem like his job is in immediate jeopardy. Youngjo is so relieved that he almost misses hearing Dongju, Keonhee, and Hwanwoong making bets on whether or not it’s a date.

Youngjo doesn’t think it’s a date.

He is 100% positive that it’s not a date. Okay, maybe 99.999% positive. And that’s only because Dongju spends the better part of Sunday telling him that it is ‘for sure’ a date. Even though it’s not a date, because Youngjo just knows it isn’t, he still spends three hours mulling over an outfit to wear to their Tuesday meeting, unsure of whether or not he’ll have time to come back and change, their meeting the last appointment of the day on Seoho’s calendar. And Youngjo tries not to make it obvious that he’s so conflicted, but Dongju senses it anyways, the younger boy somehow having a knack for these things, being able to read Youngjo’s mind in a manner of speaking almost. He gives in trying to deny it, halfway through, so that he can ask for Dongju’s opinion, the younger boy not hesitating to laugh at him when he pulls out his grey suit with a white button down.

“You never wear a suit into the office. Do you want him to think you’re that desperate? Or just crazy?” Dongju takes another bite of his ice cream, looking at Youngjo critically. “Besides that suit doesn’t even fit you, you never got it tailored properly.” Another pause. “And I thought you said this wasn’t a date.”

“It isn’t a date.”

“Okay, if you say so.”

Dongju points at his closet. “Just wear what you usually wear, but make sure you choose something vaguely coordinated. You look good in everything anyway.” A pause. “And make sure it’s _washed_.”

Youngjo ends up taking Dongju’s advice, pulling out a clean t-shirt from his pile of clothes, throwing it on over his favorite pair of jeans, slipping a belt through the loops. Perhaps not the most dressed up, but Youngjo has gotten this far, and on second thought, he highly doubts that changing into a suit will somehow make Seoho like him more. Not that he’s hoping for anything to happen. Dongju thankfully doesn’t say anything further when they head out, but Youngjo still feels the nervousness pooling in his stomach as they approach Seoho’s office, not sure whether Seoho is going to confront him about his entirely inappropriate text messages.

It turns out, he has nothing to worry about.

Seoho doesn’t say anything about the incident, proceeding on with their meeting as if everything is normal, going through and making his usual comments about possible changes, giving more advice to Dongju about the way his sceneries are filled in. Youngjo can almost believe that the entire weekend was a fever-dream, if not for the fact that Dongju, Keonhee, and unfortunately Hwanwoong to boot had witnessed his complete meltdown at brunch. They finish their meeting peacefully, not too much to discuss at this point, just work that needs to be done and the ending that Youngjo has yet to write. And Dongju awkwardly excuses himself at the end, glancing back and forth between the two of them before clearing his throat and speaking. “I will, uhh, see you back at home later tonight then, Youngjo. Have a good meal.”

And then the two of them are alone.

Seoho ends up speaking first. “Well, my car is parked in the garage across the street.” A weak embarrassed cough. “You generally walk to the office right? My place is about a twenty minute drive away.” A pause. “You should ride with me instead of catching a cab.”

Youngjo’s mouth goes dry, though he does have the sense to nod his assent at least, grabbing his things before following Seoho out the door. Seoho waves at the security guard as they leave the building, and Youngjo feels almost silly as he follows suit, the picture of them two leaving together faintly comical, with Seoho in one of his nicely pressed suits and Youngjo dressed more akin to a university student. The feeling only increases as he gets into Seoho’s car, the black leather interior making him feel even more out of place in his jeans. The ride to Seoho’s place is quiet, the radio on low in the car, and Youngjo almost thinks about making conversation, but each time he opens his mouth to the words die on his lips. He does steal side glances at Seoho the entirety of the ride though.

His nerves aren’t too misplaced though, Youngjo’s mouth gaping as he enters Seoho’s one room apartment, the high lofted ceilings, big windows along the outer apartment wall, with enough space to fit a dining table next to the kitchenette, what looks to be a makeshift study space in the corner, and even a place for guests to lounge in for a chat. It’s definitely more impressive than the messy and cramped apartment that Youngjo shares with Dongju.

“Here, some slippers.” Youngjo leaves his shoes at the door, taking Seoho’s offering. “Give me one second.” He mills about in front of the door as Seoho disappears around the corner like a flash, the other man returning after a few minutes, and Youngjo takes a sharp intake of breath when he sees Seoho appear again in some worn-out jeans, the legs rolled up at the bottom into cuffs and an oversized white shirt, the front tucked into his jeans.

Cute.

“Uhh, you said we had to talk?” Youngjo follows Seoho deeper into his apartment, into the kitchen, where Seoho opens the fridge and starts to grab things, setting them out on the counter. An onion, garlic, a lemon, some butter, some white wine, a few other things. And lastly two bowls filled with different clams. “Yeah, but first off, food.” Seoho grabs a large pot out of the cabinet over the stove. “Give me a hand?” Youngjo turns on the water for the other man, Seoho humming as he fills it up three-quarters of the way, throwing in some salt before turning the heat up for it to boil. The pan comes out next, and Youngjo watches as Seoho works his magic, the parsley, onion roots, and one bowl of clams tossed in with a bit of oil. It isn’t long before the clams start to pop open with a yawn, Seoho prying them from their shells after they’ve cooled.

“Is there anything that I can do to help?” Youngjo offers, feeling a tad useless standing around as Seoho works. “Yeah, you can get the pasta going when the water is ready.” Okay, easy enough. Youngjo can handle pasta. Meanwhile, Seoho finishes off the rest of the clams, tossing the second batch in with the first that has already been chopped up, some diced onion, and a splash of white wine and lemon juice. Youngjo has to admit that he’s impressed, the most he and Dongju have ever done with pasta being tossing it with store-bought sauce, the one time they had tried anything more complicated resulting in their only pan being burnt on the bottom. Seoho finishes it all off with some Parmesan cheese and butter, the aroma of the food making Youngjo’s mouth water in anticipation. “It smells delicious, Seoho.”

“Would you like some wine?” 

Youngjo nods ‘yes’ though he doesn’t really drink wine, and the most he can tell is that it’s a white wine and not red. Seoho heaps two plates up with pasta, setting them on the table and grabbing some cutlery for the both of them out of a kitchen drawer. Youngjo takes a few bites, watching as Seoho also starts eating, taking a sip of his wine. “So you said we needed to talk.” He looks at the other man, nervousness running through his voice, hoping that Seoho doesn’t want to talk extensively about his mistake.

“Yeah, I just wanted to clear the air and make sure everything is okay between us.” Youngjo feels Seoho’s gaze boring into him, dark and probing. “And that you’re not avoiding me.”

“Why would you think I was avoiding you?”

“You never texted or called back.” Seoho replies simply. “I wasn’t sure if it was because you were still angry with me or…” Seoho’s voice trails off, cheeks pinkening somewhat, averting his gaze down to his plate, choosing to take another bite of his food instead of looking at Youngjo.

Okay, fair point.

“I’m not angry with you.” A pause, reluctant. “Anymore.”

Seoho makes a pained expression at him, voice low and quiet. “If it makes you feel any better, I’m really sorry about what happened.” A pause. “Dongju told me why you were upset and that you were just trying to defend him. And I understand.”

Youngjo flushes, giving himself a mental reminder to chat with Dongju later about talking too much. “I’m sorry too actually.” He adds on lamely. “I also overreacted. Uhh, not an excuse, but I wasn’t in the greatest mood that day.”

“Really? Why not?”

Now he can really feel the heat in his cheeks. Not as if he can tell Seoho that it was because Dongju was making fun of Youngjo’s not-really-a-relationship with Seoho. Youngjo changes the topic instead, taking a deep breath before diving in. “Nevermind that. It’s in the past. I also wanted to apologize for those texts I sent.” He stops clumsily, not sure what to say next, fortunately saved by Seoho interjecting.

“Oh, don’t worry about those.” Seoho looks faintly embarrassed. “Geonhak told me that he sent them as a joke.” More embarrassment. “I know you wouldn’t- I mean, I didn’t think-“

Youngjo isn’t sure whether to be disappointed or relieved. He decides to take another drink of his wine instead, deciding that maybe he needs to be more drunk for this evening. Apparently, Seoho thinks so too because an hour later, the two of them are more than a little tipsy. Youngjo doesn’t think he’s ever talked so much to Seoho before, the two of them cycling through more topics than he can count. Youngjo learns that Seoho likes playing basketball and soccer in his free time and sometimes will play pickup games at the park near his apartment. Seoho hates ginger and wasabi so always leaves them untouched at the side when he eats sushi at restaurants. He learns Seoho goes to the gym frequently (though Youngjo could have guessed that easily), and he actually is silly and laughs a lot, though he is serious at work. And Youngjo experiences this firsthand, the way Seoho’s eyes crinkle as he smiles and laughs freely, the alcohol making the both of them much looser than usual.

They end up on opposite ends of the couch after dinner, a bowl of popcorn between them in the middle, a movie playing in the background, an action flick that Youngjo is only half paying attention to, having seen it before, talking between the two of them as it runs. It doesn’t escape Youngjo’s attention that Seoho has become less reserved, almost unapologetically so, similar to their night at the bar. His chest tightens each time Seoho’s fingers brush against his arm, the other man excitedly grabbing at him each time something interesting happens on screen or Youngjo says anything slightly in the sphere of amusing. At some point, Seoho throws popcorn at him in exasperation, and Youngjo returns fire without much thought.

And by halfway through the movie, Youngjo finds Seoho pressed up to his side, the closest he’s ever been, Seoho’s shoulder nudging him making the butterflies flutter in his stomach. Youngjo swallows nervously, trying not to notice that the collar on Seoho’s shirt is falling open, the top button popping loose so that Youngjo can see Seoho’s collarbones fully, the top of his chest, skin flushed slightly from the alcohol. The pout doesn’t help either, Seoho’s parted lips and bright eyes looking more and more enticing each minute that passes.

So maybe he’s a little drunk.

The question comes suddenly, takes Youngjo by surprise even though it’s not the first time he’s heard Seoho say it. “Youngjo, do you not like me?” Seoho is pouting up at him, and Youngjo nearly flinches as Seoho reaches up and pinches both his cheeks with his fingers, Seoho’s eyebrows drawing together. “You never answered me last time.”

The words come out before he can stop them. “You remember that?”

Seoho nods.

“And it’s not true.” Youngjo adds. “I don’t _not_ like you, Seoho. I don’t really know where you got that idea.”

Seoho makes a face. “I thought you hated me the first two weeks we worked together. You barely looked me in the eye.” Hesitant. “And you didn’t look particularly happy to see me at the bar with Geonhak.”

“Well, it’s not true.” Youngjo states firmly. “I was just nervous meeting with you at first. And just because we had a few different opinions, it doesn’t mean I don’t like you.”

The words are soft, a whisper. “Okay, because I rather like you.”

Youngjo stops hesitating.

Seoho tastes like salted caramel, sweet like nighttime carnival games and winning the biggest prize, the swooping sensation in his stomach on roller coaster drops, like cotton candy that melts in the mouth faster than it can be eaten. It’s ungainly at first, Youngjo catching only the corner of Seoho’s mouth, the two of them together at a bad angle, but Youngjo twists and they both fall over fully on to the couch, Youngjo sprawled on top of Seoho. He groans when he kisses Seoho again, openmouthed and wanting, Seoho whining lightly into his mouth. And Youngjo pushes down against Seoho, greedy for more, and his fingers make their way to the back of the other man’s head, curling into Seoho’s hair, feeling Seoho hard against his hip.

“Y-youngjo.”

Seoho sounds breathless, and Youngjo thinks it may be the most breathtaking thing he’s ever heard, stopping so he can stare down at Seoho, the other man with his eyes squeezed shut tightly, cheeks glowing and reddened, mouth open in little pants, the faintest hint of tongue showing. “Yes?” And he realizes that he sounds just as out of breath somehow, the two of them racing to see who can reach the finish line first. Youngjo laughs lightly as Seoho wriggles underneath him, the action somehow a cute departure from the other man’s norm, eyes opening wide, lips curving into a half scowl, half pout. “I prefer the bed.”

The statement makes Youngjo laugh outright, amused, getting up off Seoho and holding out a hand. “Lead the way.” It makes Youngjo’s heart beat faster, the way Seoho grabs his hand to firmly drag him to the bedroom, insistent and seemingly oh-so-sure of Youngjo. Seoho’s bedroom is elegant and simple, the bed taking up most of the space, a dresser pushed into the corner, the wide expanse of grayish blue sheets with only a few wrinkles, plentiful pillows gathered at the headboard. Youngjo watches as Seoho undresses unbelievably fast, shimmying out of his jeans first, down to his boxers, an annoyed grunt as his fingers don’t move quickly enough to unbutton down the front, instead making a move to pull his shirt over his head, Youngjo sharply inhaling as Seoho’s abs come into view.

And the next second, Youngjo is grabbing at him, whining, clawing at the bottom edge of his t-shirt, other hand on the buckle of his belt at his hips. “Wait, slow down, Seoho.” And Youngjo half pushes the other man on to the bed, hands around Seoho’s wrists, knees locking on either side of Seoho, taking a moment of hesitation, unsure. “Are you sure you want this?”

Seoho groans, the throaty growl apparent in his voice, his nose scrunching up at Youngjo. “I’m not _that_ drunk, Youngjo.”

Youngjo doesn’t budge. “I don’t know. I just never really got the impression that you liked me much.”

The face Seoho makes gives Youngjo a chuckle. “I thought you were cute the first time you walked in.” Seoho’s eyelashes are pretty and dark against his skin, blinking up at Youngjo, the words mumbled and soft. “And then you were so passionate about your book. It was really admirable.” Seoho pauses, eyes darting around, the blush heating his cheeks. “And you’re sweet too. It’s obvious you really care about Dongju.” Another pause, stuttering. “A-and I may have asked Geonhak his opinion about y-you too.” The blush deepens.

It’s disarming, hearing Seoho’s confession, the words drawn out of him.

And Youngjo can’t think of how to respond, not in words anyways.

The kiss this time is slower, more patient, and Youngjo cups Seoho’s cheek with one palm, fingers splaying over his skin, catching Seoho’s lower lip between his teeth before licking his way into Seoho’s mouth. And the heat curls in his groin when Seoho responds in kind, tongue hot and heavy in his mouth, hand reaching up to pull Youngjo closer. It takes Youngjo a few minutes before pulling off his t-shirt, his pants coming off a few instances later, fingers nimbly undoing his belt, legs kicking off his jeans. Until all that’s left is his boxers, the thin material doing nothing to stop his arousal, his hips pressed up against Seoho’s, the feeling of Seoho’s cock against his stomach.

“P-please.” Seoho’s words turn to mewls as Youngjo nuzzles his nose into the crook of Seoho’s neck, pressing hot kisses into the other man’s skin. His lips drift down further to Seoho’s collarbones, nipping little bites along the hollowed out groove, Seoho’s whines growing louder. And Youngjo feels Seoho’s lips over his own again, desperate and hungry, angling his head, their noses gently bumping into one another. “P-please.”

And Youngjo gives in, blazing a trail down Seoho’s body, lips moving over the other man’s chest, down further, tongue dipping into the sharpened cut of Seoho’s abdominal muscles, feeling the rapid rise and fall of Seoho’s ragged breaths thrumming in the palm of his hand pressed against the warmth of his chest. His other hand at Seoho’s hip, his fingers hooking over the other man’s hipbone, thumb digging into his skin hard enough to leave behind marks, struggling to hold him down as Seoho squirms. Youngjo tugs at the waistband of Seoho’s boxers with his fingers, the other man raising his ass slightly off the bed so that Youngjo can pull them off, slipping them down Seoho’s legs.

Seoho bucks upwards, back arching, as Youngjo takes in as much of Seoho as he can in one stroke, heavy and full in his mouth. And he works his mouth over Seoho as best he can with the other man writhing underneath him, bobbing his head up and down in measured strokes, slightly messy in his technique, drool slicking Seoho’s cock. Youngjo feels the heady desire take over as he flicks his tongue over the tip, roughly drags it up Seoho’s length, the sound of needy whimpers filling his head, the arousal going straight down to his cock. Seoho groans as Youngjo releases him with a wet squelch and _pop!_ his fingers wrapping around Seoho’s cock and tugging on it, thumb sliding over the tip, drawing out more mewls from Seoho’s lips. “How are you feeling?”

Seoho gives him a put-out expression, sticking his tongue out slightly. “Dissatisfied.”

“Mm.”

Seoho’s face tightens a bit, a low hiss escaping as Youngjo teases the tip of his cock. “Aren’t you-“ Youngjo smiles as he watches Seoho flounder, his hands gesturing vaguely, the other man’s cheeks growing pink. “You know.” Youngjo gazes at Seoho as he slowly lowers his head back down, his tongue sneaking out leisurely to run over the head of Seoho’s cock, letting Seoho watch as he licks his way down to the base. Youngjo spreads his fingers out over Seoho’s waist, the heels of his palms resting just above his hipbones, lips wrapping around Seoho’s cock, swallowing the other man fully, the whines increasing in intensity the further down he goes. The whines turn into hitched pants, and Youngjo nearly chokes when he feels Seoho’s hand, fingers fumbling, at his cock. It’s only the slightest touch, but Youngjo gets hard almost instantly, sucking hard in response.

“G-god, please Youngjo-“ Seoho lets out a whine of loss when Youngjo stops abruptly.

“Do you have-“ Seoho scrambles to the side, twisting to open the drawer at his bedside as Youngjo takes off his boxers eagerly, turning back to see that Seoho has a condom in one hand, lube in the other. Youngjo grabs both, giggling as he looks down at the label. “Watermelon flavored? Really?”

Seoho gives him an affronted look.

Youngjo squeezes out a generous amount, the lube slick over his fingers, watching as Seoho parts his legs, knees falling open, and Youngjo smears a good amount over Seoho’s waiting hole, watching as Seoho quivers beneath him. Seoho gasps as he inserts the first finger, slowly down to his knuckle, Seoho tightening up reflexively, watching as Seoho’s pupils darken precariously with arousal. And Youngjo doesn’t look away as Seoho stares him down as he pumps his finger in and out, trembling as Youngjo presses up against his walls, curling deep inside Seoho. The slickness only increases as Youngjo moves, and Seoho barely even registers Youngjo slipping in a second finger besides a tightening in his hips. And Youngjo watches as Seoho falls apart under his ministrations, Seoho’s whines high-pitched and constant, the other man’s fists balled up and clutching at the sheets, shoulders arching off the bed, Youngjo seeing his Adam’s apple moving erratically as Seoho swallows.

“Youngjo.” His name sounds low and dirty in Seoho’s mouth, and Youngjo palms his half-hardened erection in his other hand, stroking himself as he thrusts his fingers in. Three fingers is a little tight, a bit much, and Youngjo slows, letting Seoho’s body tell him how fast to go, breaths short and staccato, and he keeps going until Seoho loosens, muscles uncoiling, the shallow dip of Seoho’s belly button rising and falling.

It takes Youngjo a few moments to tear open the little square package as Seoho waits beneath him, eyes glassy and blown full of longing, slightly difficult with his fingers still slicked with lube. “Here, let me.” And Youngjo lets Seoho take the condom from him, lets Seoho slip it over his tip and roll it down snugly, groaning as Seoho wraps his fingers around his cock. “Fuck.”

“I intend to do that.” The words slip out unconsciously, and Youngjo wishes he can take them back immediately, the greasiness of the statement not lost on him, but Seoho laughs in response, and it makes Youngjo feel slightly better about himself.

Youngjo can see Seoho holding his breath as Youngjo cradles the underside of Seoho’s thighs with his hands, the other man making an impatient noise at him, Seoho grabbing at his own thighs and drawing his legs up for Youngjo. God. Seoho whimpers when he first thrusts in, the push slow and easy, his cock throbbing excitedly as Seoho clenches around him, hot and tight, only letting out his breath, exhaling deeply as he presses all the way in. “You okay?” He murmurs, and Seoho nods at him, blinking rapidly, fingers digging into Youngjo’s arms insistently. “M-more.”

God.

Youngjo groans as he picks up the pace, the image of Seoho’s face contorted in pleasured ecstasy only serving to make him want, feeling the arousal coiling in his groin tightening into further longing. He nearly forgets how to breathe as he fucks into Seoho, the feeling of Seoho clawing at his arms desperately, the wanton moans of Youngjo’s name coming from Seoho’s mouth only deepening his haze. Youngjo slides one hand downwards to cup Seoho’s ass, squeezing it tightly, making Seoho whimper, the thrill running through him, down his spine to his cock. “Fuck, you really do have a great ass, Seoho.” And Youngjo feels himself coming closer to finishing, rocking into Seoho faster, the moans from Seoho growing louder, and Youngjo watches as Seoho finally unravels. “I’m c-close, Y-Youngjo.”

Seoho doesn’t make much noise when he hits his orgasm, and Youngjo groans as he feels Seoho tighten unbearably around his cock, a little added effort in thrusting in a few more strokes before he finishes too, buried deep in Seoho’s ass, panting heavily. It takes Youngjo a few moments to catch his breath, half falling on top of Seoho, propping himself up on his elbows to keep most of his weight off the other man, Seoho whimpering when Youngjo pulls out. “Mm, Youngjo?” He turns to see where Seoho is looking, and Youngjo grabs a couple of tissues from the bedside table, wiping Seoho’s stomach clean, grimacing as he pulls off the condom with a snap and tosses it in the trash beside Seoho’s bed.

Youngjo spends half the time in the shower pressing Seoho up against the wall and kissing him until Seoho is moaning into his mouth, hips rolling against Youngjo weakly. It turns out Seoho isn’t the biggest fan of cuddling, but they still fall asleep with Youngjo’s arm loosely slung over Seoho’s waist anyways.

The next morning, Youngjo wakes up in half-panic, not recognizing or remembering where he is for the first minute or so, Seoho no where to be seen. But the events of last night come rushing back into his head, along with the beginnings of a hangover, like a shot, and he hurriedly pulls on his clothes before following the smell of breakfast out to the kitchen. Seoho turns to him cheerfully with a smile, Youngjo feeling the fluttering in his chest at Seoho, dear Seoho, in an apron, a big yellow bow tied in the back. “How do you like your eggs, Youngjo?”

Dongju doesn’t stop giving him shit for the next three days, grinning widely as Youngjo walks through the front door, embarrassment written all over his face.

“Hey, how are you doing?”

Youngjo looks up as Seoho slides into the seat across from him, a happy gurgle arising from his stomach from the late lunch, giving Seoho a quick thanks as he grabs his plated sandwich from the other man. A groan after the first bite. “Delicious. Thanks, Seoho.” Youngjo glances through the printed revised copy of the story, the red marks from Seoho abundant but mostly resolved. After some consideration, Youngjo had gone back and rewritten the ending, deciding that Seoho had made a good point, the stab of satisfaction arising when he reaches the last page. A together ending where the boy from the moon joins the other boy on Earth. Somehow it seems more hopeful than what Youngjo had before.

“Doing better now that I have food.” Seoho lets out a laugh with his smile, taking a bite of his own meal before responding. “Is Dongju not coming today?”

“No, he has a doctor’s appointment today.” Youngjo lets the lie slip out of his mouth easily, not wanting to admit to Seoho that he had purposely asked Dongju to stay at home so that he could have some time alone with Seoho. Somehow he had imagined their one night leading to much more, but Youngjo admits he’s been disappointed since then, most of their time together coming still in a professional sense, their weekly meeting one of the few times Youngjo sees Seoho. Though he’s relieved their relationship at least has relaxed somewhat, the tension ebbing out of it, many of their meetings taking place at different coffee shops. Once or twice at Seoho’s apartment, Youngjo staying afterwards for dinner.

The two of them spend the rest of the hour pouring over Dongju’s illustrations and planning possible positioning of the words on the page. It’s about 70% done, Dongju still needing some more time to finish off the end after Youngjo had rewritten it. There’s a sense of accomplishment when they wrap up, and Youngjo hesitates as they leave the shop, still unsure of whether he should give Seoho a more emphatic goodbye other than a wave, but Seoho makes the decision for him, leaving him with a smile.

“I don’t understand why you haven’t asked him out by now.” Youngjo groans at hearing Dongju’s line of questioning, the subject somehow becoming a daily topic at their dinner table. “I mean, you two clearly had _some_ chemistry with each other or else you wouldn’t have fucked.” Dongju winks at him. “Congratulations on that by the way.” The urge to scream briefly rises up in Youngjo’s mind. “But how has nothing happened between you two after that? Are you that bad at sex?”

“I really hate you, Dongju.”

“Moving on from your outright lie, as I am quite sure you love me to pieces.” Dongju takes another bite out of his piece of pizza, the two of them too lazy to make proper food tonight, popping the frozen pizza in the oven instead for a quick twelve minutes. “Has really nothing happened?”

“Please stop reminding me.” Youngjo takes another slice from the plate in the middle of their table. “I’m already having enough trouble figuring out whether or not I’m supposed to give him a kiss goodbye when we meet or if it means anything at all that he’s inviting me over to his place.”

“That depends…” Dongju wiggles his eyebrows at Youngjo suggestively. “What are you two doing at his place?”

Youngjo wishes there is something other than pizza within reach so that he can throw it at Dongju’s head. “Nothing like what you’re imagining.” A begrudging pause. “Unfortunately.” He lets out a sigh. “We’re mostly just working on the book, and then he makes us dinner and maybe we end up zoning out watching stuff on the couch for a bit.” Another huff. “And then I come home.”

“Well, have you asked to stay over?” Dongju points out the obvious fact as if it’s not something Youngjo thinks about far too often during the day than he should. “Maybe he just thinks you’re not interested anymore.”

“No, I haven’t, but I’m not about to embarrass myself and ask when he’s shown next to no sign that he wants anything further.” Youngjo pouts at Dongju’s sympathetic look. “Stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like I’m some kind of kicked puppy.”

“But you are _acting_ like a kicked puppy.”

Hard to deny the truth.

“Maybe you should try doing something about it.”

“I’ll think about it.”

Youngjo does think about it.

And he’s still thinking about it the next week when Seoho invites him over for dinner again after another one of their editing meetings, with Dongju giving him a look as he walks out of Seoho’s office, mouthing ‘go for it’ at him. The invite comes paired with one of Seoho’s earnest smiles, one of the ones that makes Youngjo’s insides flip-flop more than they have the right to. “I’d love to have dinner. What are you making tonight?”

It turns out Seoho is making steak, and Youngjo knows that he should expect as much now, but it still surprises him when Seoho plates his food as if it’s being served at a three star Michelin restaurant, paired with a red wine. And the whole time Youngjo is only half paying attention to the conversation, too distracted by the reddening in Seoho’s cheeks, the way Seoho laughs, all breathy and chopped up, as if he’s trying to simultaneously push out all the air and suck it back in at once, the way Seoho looks when he’s smiling so hard his cheeks ache and he has to stop talking for a few moments to recover. There’s nothing more Youngjo wants to think about than kissing the smile from Seoho’s face.

He makes it all the way through dinner with a giggly Seoho and all the way through a movie afterwards, this time a rom-com, the feeling of Seoho’s knee, the left one, pressed up against his, burning a hole through his jeans and into his skin. Youngjo knows that he shouldn’t be affected this much, but there’s just something about Seoho, even a glance sets his skin ablaze. They finish their movie far too soon, and Youngjo can tell that Seoho is tired today, the other man’s eyes threatening to close for a good ten minutes towards the end, and he feels his heart softening in his chest, the temptation to sweep Seoho up in his arms and carry him to the bed only cut short as Seoho’s eyes manage to flutter open.

“Time to go?” Seoho’s bleary response does nothing to stop the pounding of his heartbeat nor the smile that unbiddenly graces his lips, tugged out whenever he’s in Seoho’s presence nowadays. The hand that grabs at his arm, wrapping over his upper bicep makes his face grow warmer.

“Yes, time to leave.” Seoho follows him to the front door, waiting as Youngjo slowly pulls on his shoes at the entrance way. They do the ever present awkward dance of Youngjo thinking about whether he should do something, backing up to leave, the front door bumping into his hip. But before he can make another non-decision, Seoho is lightly on his tip toes, just so he’s level with Youngjo, hands on Youngjo’s shoulders, and there’s suddenly a softly brushed butterfly kiss over the tip of his nose. It’s barely anything, but it still makes Youngjo fuzzy on the inside all the way home.

It’s going well, Youngjo thinks.

There’s more dinners at Seoho’s place, and they even venture out to a new specialty artisanal coffee shop, Youngjo making a face when the coffee isn’t to his taste, too bitter for his palate. There’s a dinner at a new restaurant, Seoho being invited to a soft opening by a close friend, insisting that Youngjo join him for a night of revelry. They both get silly and tipsy, and Youngjo practically glows with exhilaration when Seoho takes his hand at some point on the walk back to the car, swinging their intertwined hands in between them like a small child.

And it’s with a buoyed sense of confidence that Youngjo walks into their next meeting, the realization coming last night that the book is almost finished, only one or two scenes left to put together illustration-wise, mostly everything else pinned down to their final positions. The feeling only lasts until Youngjo takes a seat, seeing the expression on Seoho’s face, uncomfortable and apologetic.

“So, uhh, Keonhee’s back.”

It’s not that Youngjo isn’t happy to see his friend again, but he can’t deny that there is disappointment in his voice when Keonhee calls, expecting a fanfare, and noticing when he doesn’t receive one. “Wow, I kinda expected more excitement when I told you that I was coming back. Aren’t you excited to have me instead of Seoho?” Keonhee’s voice is tinny and teasing over the phone. “Or have you finally admitted to yourself that you want Seoho’s ass? Both figuratively and literally.”

“Shut up.”

Dongju doesn’t hesitate to add his two cents from the other room. “Once you get back Keonhee, we need to catch you up on Seoho’s ass. And how Youngjo got some.”

It’s only a few more weeks of work until Youngjo is finished after Keonhee gets back, surprisingly bringing Hwanwoong along with him, oftentimes the shorter man wandering in on their editing sessions in Keonhee’s apartment, coming from Keonhee’s bedroom into the kitchen, wanting attention. A few times Youngjo thinks about reaching out to Seoho, calling, texting maybe, something short. But each time he hesitates, not sure there’s anything left connecting them to one another after the book is gone. Youngjo doesn’t even have an excuse to show up at the office anymore, Keonhee preferring to work elsewhere besides the company, their productivity good when not being constrained by Keonhee’s office walls. A few kisses, a one-night stand, and Youngjo hates to admit that he’s just as unsure of Seoho as he was the first day he walked into the other man’s office.

“Just confess and fuck again already.”

Geonhak looks at him pointedly, Keonhee also facing him and nodding in agreement. “We’re tired of all this obvious tension between the two of you that hasn’t resolved yet.” Geonhak takes another gulp of his drink, downing the last of the glass. “Do you know what happens when I meet up with Seoho? He blabbers on and on about you every chance he gets. Youngjo this, Youngjo that.” A pause. “But neither of you seem willing to just _say_ something to one another.”

“Yeah, it’s pretty obvious that you two like each other.” Keonhee chimes in, and Youngjo glares at his other friend. “And you should do something about it.”

Youngjo is in the middle of lamenting this outing when Dongju comes back to the table with more drinks, handing one to Youngjo before adding more fuel to the fire. “Are we talking again about how Youngjo needs to just _get_ together with Seoho?” There’s a round of nodding from the table as Youngjo scowls at them balefully. “It’s getting rather tedious having to repeat the same thing every day at dinner and then watch him stare at his phone for an hour before deciding not to do anything.”

“Why does this feel like an intervention?”

“Because if no one intervenes, we all have to suffer watching the two of you.”

“Yeah, and what happens if we all want to do something as a group? Not that it wouldn’t be funny at first, but we can only stand the two of you being awkward with each other for so long.”

“Not to mention, I’m already tired of watching you pine away in our apartment every day.”

Youngjo groans.

The book gets finished, and Youngjo tears the box open eagerly when it arrives, Keonhee watching with delight as he and Dongju thumb through the final product, the colors glossy and vibrant on the pages. The cover is smooth to the touch under his fingers, and the pride wells up in his chest. Dongju looks just as pleased as he does, seeing his pictures finally gathered into its proper story. It’s the cumulation of months of hard work, and Youngjo can barely believe that it’s completed. Or that Keonhee had gone to the trouble of organizing a small company launch party for Youngjo and Dongju to celebrate.

“Why do we have to go to this?” Youngjo grumbles as Dongju hands him the grey blazer from his closet, slinging it over his shoulders. “I hate parties.”

“It’s an accomplishment, our third book. Worth celebrating.” Dongju chides him gently. “Keonhee is only trying to be nice.” A pause. “And besides, when else will you have an occasion to wear your new suit?” Youngjo can’t argue with that logic. The suit had been at Dongju’s insistence, a week or so ago, as the younger boy had decided to drag him to a specialty suit shop, Youngjo feeling out-of-place as the man fussed over him, taking his measurements one by one in order to provide Youngjo with the best fit. It’s an improvement over what he had in his closet before, and Youngjo admits that it does look good on him, tight in all the right places, with no extra unnecessary fabric anywhere. A dark gray, blue button down underneath. And Youngjo suddenly finds himself with the discomfort of a collared shirt for the first time in a while.

“Stop tugging at it.” Youngjo briefly wonders whether he should be embarrassed that Dongju is the one that needs to help him tie his own tie. “I already made the knot nice and neat looking. You’re going to mess it up.”

“Thanks, Dongju.”

“Of course.” Dongju’s gaze towards him softens. “You know that I’d do anything for you, Youngjo.”

“I know.”

When they arrive, the gathering is already underway, not too large, but not overly small either, about 50 people, some friends and others coworkers, gathered in the office, a table set to the side with different drink options and small snack food in a spread. Youngjo grabs some soda, ignoring the alcohol, and loads a small paper plate with a few cookies and some cheese and crackers. He spends the better part of the next hour accepting congratulations from various people, and the sense of achievement becomes more concrete, real the more he hears their kind words.

“Hey, isn’t this great?” Keonhee’s grinning at him, a drink in hand, Hwanwoong in tow, Youngjo smiling as he sees the two of them, somehow dressed to match though Youngjo suspects that none of it is intentional. “Really wanted to make sure you got recognized for your third book. Some people don’t make it past two.” Hwanwoong nods in agreement as Youngjo feels the heat warm his face, Dongju sidling up to him to join the conversation. “It’s not that impressive. It’s just a children’s book unlike what Hwanwoong produces.”

“Getting anything published, whether big or small, is an achievement.” Hwanwoong utters sagely, tipping his drink at Youngjo and Dongju. “I agree with Keonhee. Take the night to be proud of your work.”

“…and have a drink.” Geonhak comes out of thin air, and Youngjo suddenly feels a champagne flute being pushed into his hands, Geonhak going around the circle handing everyone their own. “Do you want to make your toast soon?” A pause. “Either way, maybe you should take a drink or two anyways. Seoho just walked into the room.”

Youngjo’s head turns around so sharply and quickly that he almost gives himself whiplash, trying to spot the other man in the crowd. “Where? Geonhak, I swear, if this is a joke, I _will_ murder you later. Or sooner.” But he doesn’t really hear Geonhak’s response, his eyes picking out the familiar navy blue back near the table with the food, and Youngjo is already three steps away when Keonhee calls out to him. “Youngjo? The toast?”

“Let Dongju do it.” He throws the words carelessly back over his shoulder, concentrating instead on making his way across the room to where Seoho is. And he’s so focused on getting there, that he doesn’t really think of what should happen when he ends up standing in front of Seoho, or behind rather, and so the first thing out of his mouth isn’t exactly inspiring.

“Hey.”

Seoho turns around at his voice, mild surprise on his face, the cookie half way in his mouth giving him such a comical look that Youngjo can’t help the snort of laughter that comes out, easing his nervousness immediately as Seoho makes a face at him. “Shouldn’t you be in front of everyone giving some sort of toast?”

“I told them Dongju could do it.” Youngjo stares at Seoho who shifts back and forth on his feet under Youngjo’s gaze. “I didn’t know you were coming.”

“Of course I was coming.” Seoho smiles at him softly. “Congratulations on finishing the book.”

“We couldn’t have done it without you.”

There’s a silence as both of them fumble for something to say next, the two of them awkwardly starting to speak at the same time and hurriedly stopping as they realize. “You go first.” Seoho offers, and Youngjo takes a deep breath before starting. “I just wanted to say that I really appreciated all your help. We didn’t agree on everything, especially in the beginning, but in the end, I enjoyed working with you. Even if you were only meant to stand-in for Keonhee until he came back, you really tried your best in working with us.”

Youngjo pauses. “And I’d like it if we could still see each other even though Keonhee is back, and you’re not our editor anymore.” He sees the uncertainty flit across Seoho’s face, and Youngjo feels his stomach drop at the thought of this maybe not going as well as he had hoped for.

He watches as Seoho takes a gulp of champagne. “So, I saw a copy of the finished book. It looks really good.” The sinking feeling grows deeper, Youngjo unsure of where Seoho is going. Seoho’s voice drops lower, words shy and hesitant. “I liked that you changed the ending so that the boy from the moon and the boy from Earth are together. And I was hoping-“ A pause. “That you didn’t want to just see me, but that maybe you wanted to be, like, together.” Youngjo can’t tell whether the flush working its way up Seoho’s neck is from the alcohol or his words. That sinks in as Seoho repeats it. “Together, like a couple.”

Youngjo doesn’t think, doesn’t even respond, just wraps Seoho up in a kiss, the sound of everyone’s cheering and applause after Dongju’s toast in the background.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments, kudos, and feedback are always appreciated!
> 
> Twitter: [@sidestickienote](https://twitter.com/sidestickienote)  
> CuriousCat: [@sidestickienote](https://curiouscat.qa/sidestickienote)  
> 


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